THIRTEEN
The house he’d been watching for more than a year now belonged to Mike and Natalie Bailey. From his perch in the highest branches of an oak tree, he had a perfect view of the kitchen window. He saw Mike Bailey step up behind his wife, kiss her cheek, and then wrap his arms around her waist while she rinsed the dishes. Under the soft glow of the kitchen light, he could make out the slight curve of her lips when she smiled.
He shifted his weight from his right hip to his left. He hadn’t planned on sitting in the tree for so long. Usually that wouldn’t be a problem since he’d been climbing trees for as long as he could remember. After mastering the art of climbing gangly-limbed oaks, he’d moved on to pines and redwoods. From there he’d conquered fences and walls. His ability to climb trees had often saved him from his father’s tortuous whims.
Mike walked away, leaving Natalie alone.
His chest tightened. Tonight was the night.
He’d learned a lot about the couple just from picking through their garbage. Discovering where they hid the key to their house, though, had been a game changer.
He’d read every love letter he’d found hidden away in their closet. They’d met when Mike was a senior and Natalie was a sophomore in high school. Two days after Natalie graduated, they were married at a local courthouse. Hardworking people, they had toiled at odd jobs during the day and attended higher-education courses at night. Mike became a lawyer, and Natalie worked as a psychotherapist, which was surprising considering all her talk in her journal about wanting to be a social worker like her mother, Sue Sterling.
Which brought him to the reason he was here.
Sue Sterling was the social worker sent to his house when he was a child. By the time she came for a visit, there had to have been enough complaints and concerns about abuse and child neglect to fill a binder. He couldn’t count the number of times teachers, neighbors, and doctors had commented on the cigarette burns and bite marks they’d seen on his bony arms and legs.
Why else would she have been sent to his house?
What nobody had witnessed were all the other unimaginable things he was forced to do on the farm. If he didn’t submit to his father’s demands, he was locked in the box for days.
He didn’t question why his mother never left his father. The one time she’d tried, his father found her and dragged her home, shackled her wrists and ankles to the barn wall with metal cuffs, and made him, her only son, practice playing darts.
He was twelve by the time Natalie Bailey’s mom arrived. Somehow his father had been warned that someone from Child Services would be paying them a visit, so he made him and his mother scrub floors, wash clothes, and makes themselves presentable.
Sue Sterling seemed impressed. Not only by his father’s good looks but also by the cleanliness of their house. The second his father walked into the other room to stir the pot of stew on the stove, he’d lifted his shirt high enough so that Sue Sterling could see his chest was covered with infected crisscrosses made with a pair of rusty scissors.
Her breathing had hitched before she’d quickly looked away.
Ultimately he figured she must not have cared because she talked to his father one more time, shook his hand, and then left the premises, never to be heard from again.
He’d never forgotten her face or her name.
Many times after that day, he’d thought about running away, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Mom. But she was determined that he save himself. She knew he was smart. Dad had pulled him out of school after the Sue Sterling visit, so Mom tutored him every day. When he was old enough, she’d helped him apply to colleges. He’d gotten a full scholarship to UCI, and since he was growing big enough to fight back, Dad let him go. He majored in psychology and social work. And when he wasn’t studying, he fought the demons within and did everything he could to keep the voices at bay. Two weeks before graduation, after discovering his mother had passed on, something had snapped.
He’d killed a cow and a dog, hoping the act of killing a living creature would help him release his never-ending frustration and hatred for life and people. Unfortunately the urge to harm others only grew from there, especially when he’d realized a lot of his hostility stemmed from Sue Sterling’s visit.
It hadn’t been too late. She could have saved him.
She’d seen.
She’d known.
And yet she’d done nothing.
The first human he’d killed was a homeless man. It had all happened in a blur. He’d snuck up behind the old man, leaned over his shoulder, and stabbed him in the chest. It was over in the blink of an eye. So he’d ripped out his heart in hopes that he would feel something more.
But it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop.
His next victim had been a hooker. She’d told him to call her Sugar. And that was what he’d done.
Without any prompting, she’d stripped off her clothes. She couldn’t understand why he didn’t jump her bones—then she’d seen the knife in his hand. That was when she’d panicked. Sugar had started talking real fast, every word tumbling over the next. Her eyes had become overly bright, and she began to shake, even peed right where she stood. Peed like a horse. He should know, since he’d grown up on a farm.
Sugar didn’t run. Instead she froze in terror.
And he was fascinated.
For the first time in his life, he understood what fear did to people, and what his father must have felt every time he tortured him or his mother. Being in control of another human being gave him a high he’d never experienced before.
He was the Wizard of Oz, a force to be reckoned with.
He was all-powerful.
He had told her not to worry, calling her Sugar as he tied her to a tree. And he’d listened to her ramble on about all the reasons he should let her go as he used his knife to sharpen a couple of sticks that would be used to poke and prod.
Every time he’d given her hope by telling her he’d let her go when he was finished with her, she would relax. He’d told her to do all sorts of things, like dance and sing, and poke herself in the eye. She had done anything and everything he asked her to do, and his pulse quickened every time she obeyed.
But not in a sexual way. He didn’t feel those kinds of things. Never had. He had no desire to touch a woman, let alone another human being. What he’d always wanted was to feel something other than anger. And for the first time in his life, he did.
Sugar had grown tired of his games, so he’d untied her. He knew she’d run, but he’d never expected her to be so fast after everything she’d been through. It hadn’t been easy catching up to her. When he’d had her on the ground again, she’d kicked and clawed, bit down hard on his wrist. He still had the scar. She was a fighter, but she was no match for him. He’d easily taken control again, tied her to the tree, and began to remove her heart, slowly and methodically, while she screamed and spit fire. That time he’d been able to watch the pulsing, pounding organ as he felt his own heart beat within. It was magical.
Sugar was special. The one who made him recognize that control was power, and power was everything.
He’d found his passion.
So he’d moved back home and showed his father who was boss. Then he’d forced him to sell most of the farmland so that they would own the house, the barn, and ten acres of land, free and clear, allowing him to work from home and do what he loved best.
Natalie reached up and removed two cups and saucers from the cupboard, pulling him out of his reverie. A few minutes later, the lights went out, and he could no longer see Natalie through the kitchen window.
They would drink their tea while they read in bed.
He’d hidden in their house before. Spent more than one night huddled inside the attic, listening to them through the vents. He’d been watching Mike and Natalie for so long, he felt as if he knew them.
He shimmied down the trunk and jumped to the ground, then stood still, overcome with excitement. In a few hours, it would be time to introduce himself to Natalie Bailey.